


Merry Christmas! (From, GIR)

by WM_WM_WM



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WM_WM_WM/pseuds/WM_WM_WM
Summary: GIR and Minimoose have something surprising in store for their master!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Merry Christmas! (From, GIR)

Zim lazily stretched out on his purple couch with a tired sigh. The TV was murmuring a murder documentary he didn't care about. He was simmering in his negative thoughts, dark as the midnight sky that was outside his oddly-shaped window. A light hail drummed on his roof, filling his antennae with white noise. Absentmindedly, he twisted his neck to glance at a clock. It read, "12:01". He drummed his sharp fingers onto the side of the couch, obviously bored out of his mind. Suddenly, his antennae perked up. His head swiveled to the kitchen, where he picked up a hint of robotic giggling.

"What's GIR up to this time?" he wondered, looking annoyed.

His faithful, mentally deficit robot, leaped from behind a wall. In his tiny fingers, he held a box the size of his head, wrapped in green wrapping paper. Delicately placed on top was a red bow. Chuckling with glee, he bumbled over to where his green friend sat. Minimoose trailed behind him, stupidly grinning as per usual. GIR slammed the box onto the floor, within reach of Zim's lazy arms.

"Merry Christmas, master!" the robot squealed, bouncing up and down with anticipation. "Open it!"

Venom in his voice, Zim droned, "I don't like Christmas."

His ruby red eyes stared at the shimmering box.

"A package is a package," he murmured, pulling himself upright.

Snatching the box from the dusty floor, he shook it a few times. From the sounds it made, it sounded loose and flabby. He raised an eyebrow, as he tore the paper to shreds. GIR, being ever so helpful, started toying with a scrap like a cat. Zim threw open the cardboard lid impatiently. Scanning the insides, he gawked, jaw growing slightly slack. Carefully sticking his hand into the package, Zim pulled, in his thumb and forefinger, out a Whoopee cushion.

"Whuzzis?" he asked, curiously staring at it.

"Squeeze it!" GIR squealed.

Before he did that, however, he noticed something curious on the back. A yellow post-it note had crude handwriting on it.

Zim read, "Epstein didn't kill himself."

Minimoose squeaked, "Nyah!"

"Well!" Zim remarked playfully, "You're quite the _Joker_. Geddit? Because- 'Cause-"

"Nyah."

"You're right, that was dumb."

Interrupting their intelligent conversation, GIR screamed, "Squeeze! Whoopee!"

"Are you sure this... woo-pee isn't going to kill me?"

"Nyah!"

"Alright, alright, settle your horses. Or whatever the phrase is."

Zim crushed the cushion between his three fingers. Above the ambient chatting of the TV, and the pounding of the hail, echoed a large, wet, fart noise. Zim's frown, deep as the grand canyon, started to change. A small uptick at the fringe corners of his lips turned into a face-splitting grin, and that turned into a wide, open mouth, filled with laughter. Despite it coming from a stupid, completely idiotic source, Zim couldn't help but guffaw at it's utter randomness. He threw the stupid invention back into the box, which had been discarded on the floor. His hands pounded the side of the couch, and his feet stomped the ground. GIR, beaming with joy, scrambled next to his chuckling master.

"Eh, GIR?" Zim shyly asked. He took a moment to giggle to himself, than, in a low voice, grumbled, "Thank you."

The little robot, bursting with joy, threw his arms around his master's neck. He yelped in surprise, flinching at the attack. Peeling himself off of his couch, he yanked the squealing, metal robot off his voice box.

Grinning antennae to antennae, Zim declared, "Now, let's make some evil plans to take over the humans with this flatulent device!"

Cackling madly, and whoopee cushion in hand, the three sped off into Zim's lair.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope all of you have/had a happy Christmas!


End file.
